


LIKE HELL (better the take away)

by Black_Calliope



Series: Food war verse [1]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Calliope/pseuds/Black_Calliope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, trying to cook homemade tacos seemed like a great idea at the time. As known, even the best ideas have flaws.</p>
            </blockquote>





	LIKE HELL (better the take away)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crack!fic, namely a story where the characters act in a way totally alien to human understanding without any real reason to keep up appearances. I don't own anything except the plot.

Yes.

The answer is yes.

No matter that no question was asked, these are trifles to which no one is interested in right now.

Yes, trying to cook homemade tacos seemed like a great idea at the time.

Yes, actually cornmeal mixed with water and oil will make the mixture harder to wash away.

Yes, Tommy’s hair will have a hell of a time after what just happened.

Yes, the grin spreading on Adam’s lips should tell a lot about what’s gonna happen.

Yes, probably Sasha and Taylor’s crawl-away-from-the-kitchen-while-you-can option looks the most sane at the moment.

Yes, the shocked silence following the splat of the egg hitting Tommy’s head definitely looks like the classical calm before the storm.

His lips are parted in a perfect ‘o’ and the shocked expression and the crystallized posture are in total contrast with the liquid slipping in artistic, yellow-ish streams from his fringe.

Adam crosses his arms on his chest, a ‘justice is done’ expression clear on his face. And surely his posture would result more than triumphant, if not for the dough smeared all over his hair, making him look more like a veteran of a cookery war than a rockstar that had just exacted revenge.

‘Ten to one that we’ll have to clean the kitchen,’ Terrance says.

From the door Sasha, Taylor and Terrance’s heads are barely visible. The three of them are clearly ready to retreat at the first sign of flying eggs, but for now they’re just enjoying the scene, pressed against the relative safety of the door.

Adam throws at them a glance. Such a lovely family.

And then suddenly everything becomes white.

In a last moment of clarity Adam makes a mental note of never letting Tommy out of his sight range. Even more when you are talking about a Tommy armed with flour.

‘Oh, he didn’t .’Adam barely hears Sasha’s whispered – and amused, oh, yes, _so amused_ – comment, while trying to shake off the insane amount of flour on his face and, at the same time, repress a sneeze.

‘I wonder if Adam has a good degreaser,’ Terrance replies to Sasha with the practicality of an old housewife. And then Adam grabs a handful of sticky dough from the bowl, determined to rewrite the meaning of the word chaos on Tommy’s hair.

 _The flour improves the volume and the olive oil the shine of the hair shaft._

 __Yep, definitely there isn’t a better moment to give hair care suggestions than the one in which you grab your bassist’s shirt and slap a handful of taco dough right on his pretty head.

In retaliation Tommy grabs something from the counter, literally climbing him as if Adam was a fucking stair, grabbing at his shoulders and pressing on him and this is anything but fair – ‘What the… Tommy, quit acting like a monkey and let me… You’ll pay for this, Ratliff!!’

‘I don’t think so!’ is the reply that the blonde gives him, jumping quickly on the floor and dropping to the floor just in time to avoid one of the flying eggs, still clutching the oil bottle as if it were a baseball bat.

The bastard is grinning. He just emptied a whole liter of oil right on Adam’s fucking head and he’s grinning. Oh, no. _Oh, hell, no._

 __Deciding on retribution Adam reaches out grabbing the first thing at hand. The head of lettuce stares back at him with a frightened expression, surely regretting the bucolic calm of the camp where it grew up.

And then, before Adam can do anything, Taylor murmurs something that sounds dangerously like _‘Darth Glitter and the Floured Jedi’_ and the tomato that Tommy was holding in his hand suddenly goes squashing on the door jamb and on the dancer’s face.

Sasha’s battle cry mixes with her mourning cries for her new shirt that _it’s from Chanel, you bastard!_ before the door opens and she pounces on Tommy, dragging with her the flour bowl.

Suddenly the room drowns under a white veil, Tommy laughs, rolling and wriggling trying to escape from Sasha’s clutches. The catfight ends with Tommy literally jumping away, grabbing and crawling on Adam.

Adam lets Tommy drag him after the counter, safe from the launch of – Tomatoes? Dough? – whatever it is that is flying from an end to the other of the kitchen.

‘It’s not fair to use Adam as human shield, Tommy!’ Taylor reproaches him, weighing briefly an egg on his hand before throwing it in their direction. The egg makes a perfect parabola and ends splashing on the window right at the back of its real targets.

Terrance’s whimper of pain at the certainty of having to clean also the windows is almost heartbreaking.

Tommy chuckles leaning a bit on Adam’s shoulder, eyes glittering and hands searching for something to use in counterattack.

‘I should throw you in Sasha’s arms, it would be a fair revenge for this,’ Adam whispers to him, a finger that goes pointing to his hair. But the arm that keeps holding Tommy’s shoulder is in sharp disagreeing with his words.

Tommy grins widely at him – and really, Adam shouldn’t love so much such a confident and cocky smile – before placing a hand on Adam’s thigh and reaching out to grab a pan from the near table.

‘Pft, you are too much of a chevalier to do such a thing,’ Tommy replies, placing the pan on Adam’s head as if it was an helmet. A tomato goes smashing not far away from their heads, red spurts on the kitchen’s counter and on the other side of the room Taylor exults while Sasha tells them to surrender.

Adam’s lips curl in a knowing smile, before his hands go straighten the improvised helmet on his head. 'Oh, as if I would allow someone to make an attempt on your virtue,' he replies grabbing an egg from the carton.

And while the kitchen suddenly becomes an improvised battlefield, filling up with unidentified flying objects and laughter, the poor head of lettuce is left on the floor with the only certainty that, if there was a rehabilitation center for abused vegetables, it and the tomato splattered on the door would be the first to need it.


End file.
